


how to [never] stop being sad

by necromantrix



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, it's happy-ish and then it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromantrix/pseuds/necromantrix
Summary: As he makes his way down the hall, he wonders if he could ever have that same profound sincerity and compassion for others that he finds in Naki.It’s funny in the way that any tragedy is funny, which is to say: not at all, except in its irony.





	1. Chapter 1

“Tachibana!”

“Not even close.”  _ I don’t think he’s actually trying anymore _ .

Naki hardly reacts beyond an offhanded “okay” as he glances curiously at the paper Shuu’s looking at. He leans down over his shoulder, not doing much to respect his personal space.

“What’s that?”

The paper’s faded and dirty, no doubt pulled by someone from the refuse piles that litter the underground they call their refuge. There are lines running sideways across it, in little groups, and those lines have funny little dots with lines coming off of them. Is it another language? Can Tsukiyama read it? 

Naki is fascinated.

Shuu turns it in his hand so Naki can see it more clearly, turning his head slightly to look up at him from the corner of his eye. “Sheet music.”

“This’s music?” He takes the paper and stares intently at it, puzzled. Music, he knows, but that’s all stuff you  _ hear _ . This is something to  _ look _ at and probably to  _ read _ . There’s no way this is  _ music. _ Not the kind of music he knows, anyway. But Tsukiyama always knows so much more, doesn’t he?

“It’s the written language of music,  _ monsieur.” _

“Music’s got a language?”

Shuu chuckles, amused, and takes the paper back with an elegant flick of his wrist. “That it does.” He gestures to the seat beside him, setting the paper on the table. “Each symbol represents a note and how long to play it.” He’ll try to be as simple as possible, not bothering to go into key or time signatures or anything else technical. Not without a piano, at least. “That first note is an A,” he explains, the fingers of his right hand pantomiming out the first few notes on the edge of the table while his left hand points at the first note.

“What’s it sound like? How d’you read it?”

“An A?”

“Music’s language or whatever y’ called it.”

This would be a  _ lot _ easier with a piano, Shuu acknowledges, or even a violin, but he clears his throat as he scans the page for what might be the simplest part. He’s not going to let Naki down with something as simple as this, not when he’s so curious—leaning forward with his entire upper body, his eyes wide. “This would ideally be played on an instrument, or sung with lyrics, but…” He sighs, a forlorn sound.  _ “Nécessité fait loi." _

Naki, unsurprisingly, has no clue what language that even is, let alone what it means. He doesn’t bother asking, although he does rest his arm on the table to lean closer in a clear sign of interest.

Shuu points at the first note in the section so Naki can follow along, and he sings out a series of notes. His voice is his instrument, and the lyrics are simply the names of the notes as he sings them. He’s slightly off, he notes, the lack of anything to tune his voice to slightly aggravating, but Naki doesn’t seem to care or even notice. He snatches the paper away and looks at it closely, finger tracing the lines of the notes.

“Ya’re real smart ‘bout music stuff, huh?” he asks, resting his elbow on his thigh. His posture is terrible.

Shuu nods. “I’ve been practicing my entire life. I started young, because of…”  _ My mother. _ He hasn’t thought of her in a while, and his eyes fall to his hand, still on the edge of the table. “I started young.” The sheet music and piano in his family’s house had been hers, and even though he has no memory of her, playing those songs on that piano made him feel like he knew her, even if it was only in an abstract way. She was a ghost in that house, found only in musical notes and a place setting at the table.

And it’s no more.

His home is a place he can never return to. It was taken away, physically and metaphorically. It isn’t just the physical house and everything in it that he’s lost; he’s lost everyone who was a part of and worked for the household. They were the people closest to him all his life, and now they’re gone. Mairo. Matsumae. Kanae. He almost lost his father, but the head of the Tsukiyama family is too clever for that (and was also loathe to leave his only child behind).

“Uh, Yamada? Ya’ ‘right?”

A hand waving in front of his face brings him back to the present, and he nods distractedly. “You were closer that time,” he says, standing up. “I’m going to see if our king needs anything.” That is something he still has to hold onto; he belongs here, as Kaneki’s knight and sword and second-in-command, the body that no longer belongs to him alone serving all of ghoulkind.

He stops at the doorway, his hand on the frame, and turns to look at Naki. “When we get out of this,” _if_ _we ever get out of this_ , “I’ll teach you how to play the piano, _mon loup.”_

Naki’s eyes widen slightly, and then he smiles brightly. There’s so much naïveté in him. It’s endearing. “That’d be cool.”


	2. Chapter 2

Living underground really fucks with the circadian rhythm.

There are no windows. There is no sign of the sky. There is no grasp of if it’s day or if it’s night. Everyone just tends to  _ exist _ down here underground, sleeping when they need sleep and being awake when they aren’t tired.

Keeping morale up is difficult like this.

“Soratou. Chuu.” The whispering is faint and shaky with what can only be sobs, and it draws Shuu’s attention as he passes down the hall. He’s always been nosy. It got him in trouble as a child, sure, but now it’s more or less useful. The muttered names continue as he peers into the dark room—a small one often used as a meeting place when important stuff needs to be discussed. For a moment the room looks empty, but as he steps farther in he catches sight of the crying man: Naki, legs crossed and tears falling onto the floor. “Hajihei. Noita. Ha—” 

He cuts himself off as he becomes aware of someone watching him, and he looks up and watches as Shuu crosses the room towards him. His eyes are dark, the smudged eyeliner he normally wears a bit more smudged than normal. His eyes are puffy, too; the bags also look noticeably darker.

Naki is a mess.

The two men stare at each other for a moment, then Shuu holds up a single finger. “Yuuma.” He holds up a second. “Aliza. Kurei. Mairo. Mastumae.” With every name, he holds up another. Slowly, he closes his hand and lowers it as he adds, “Kanae. Those names were all friends you’ve lost, aren’t they?”

Naki stares up at him for a moment longer before his gaze drops to his hands, slack on the ground between his legs. “Yeah.” He sniffled. “‘Member ‘em all.”

“It’s impressive,” Shuu says as he sits on the ground beside him. His pants will probably end up dirty, but so do most things he owns nowadays. “I remember, but I don’t like to think about it.”

“They’re what keeps me goin’,” Naki explains, wiping his cheeks. “I love my friends.”

Does Naki cry like this every night? Shuu stares at the legs of the table in the room before them, trying to recall if he’s cried at all beyond the initial shock. Does he even miss them?

“Sucks, people dyin’ all the time,” Naki continues. “Just wanna have somethin’ permanent.”

“Nice word choice,” Shuu agrees, leaning his head back against the wall. His tone sounds curt, tarred by his thoughts, but he means it. Naki doesn’t seem to notice, anyway, which is just as well. He takes the compliment at face-value, with a sad little smile and a quiet little “thanks.”

The silence that falls across them is almost deafening. There are the sounds of the underground—the pipes that run overhead are old and far from silent, and people can be heard talking farther down the hall, too far away to discern who. There is also the quiet sound of Naki’s shaky breaths beside him as he calms down. Shuu closes his eyes.

“D’ya miss ‘em?”

Does he? He hesitates before forming a careful answer. “I do, but we can’t afford to be weighed down by those we’ve lost. We have no choice but to keep moving forward. We have a mission now. A goal. I serve our king with no regrets.” A lie. There are some regrets.

“I regret lotsa things,” Naki responded. “Regret not protectin’ my friends good ‘nough.”

“ _ Oui _ . But you would not be here.”

Shuu can feel Naki’s eyes on him, and so he opens his own to meet his gaze.

He’s left with a better understanding of who Naki is when the stare ends, and it stings somewhere deep down. He takes a breath before speaking.

“One day,  _ monsieur,” _ he says as he stands up, dusting off the backs of his legs. “One day we will lose people no longer.” He’s not sure if either of them will live to see it, but he’s hopeful. He has faith in Kaneki. He has faith in Goat.

As he makes his way down the hall, he wonders if he could ever have that same profound sincerity and compassion for others that he finds in Naki.


	3. Chapter 3

The news comes at a terrible time.

Kaneki—his king, his world—is a monster, one consuming the city. He’s an awful sight to behold, and none of them have any idea how to proceed.

Miza finds him when he’s alone to tell him. It elicits a foul feeling in his gut, and he wonders, briefly, if he’s going to be sick.

Naki is dead. Unsurprising, given his propensity towards recklessness to protect others, but still painful. Naki—sweet, kind, naïve Naki—is gone.

“Thank you for telling me,” Shuu says, and he dismisses himself without another word. He seeks fresh air and open space, and he finds himself leaning against a tree, one hand clamped over his mouth as he just  _ breathes. _ He’s not sure if he wants to scream and cry or kill someone just for the sake of killing. Maybe both.

Maybe neither, he realizes. Something about this feels obvious. Of course Naki is dead. Someone with that much innocent love within him could never survive in this cruel world. And he  _ did _ love, wholly and without fear, and that thought brings about a different kind of ache in Shuu’s chest.

_ I loved him, too. _

It’s funny in the way that any tragedy is funny, which is to say: not at all, except in its irony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you gotta write the fics you wanna see in the world
> 
> anyway, hope ya' enjoyed. stay tuned for more nakishuu content because i love them so much. really i just love naki and would sell tsukiyama to satan for one corn chip.


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